Suited Up
by girl in the glen
Summary: A mission, a disagreement and a deadly consequence for one of the men from UNCLE.
1. Chapter 1

"I don't care what you say, I am not going up there in this suit. Yours won't matter so much, all of that black... I won't do it."

Napoleon Solo was prepared to stand beneath the monstrous water tower for as long as it took his stubborn Russian partner to come to his senses and climb to the top and retrieve the package that was stashed there. Illya was standing equally firm on his refusal to cooperate based on his partner's insistence that a suit should trump duty.

"You keep reminding me that you are the senior agent, by two years. Well then, as senior agent it is highly in your favor to get this job done by whatever means are necessary. That includes climbing up there in your new suit."

Napoleon smiled at Illya, just enough to let him know it wasn't over.

One call to Mr. Waverly and a distinct lack of full disclosure, and the nimble blond was on his way to the top of the tower. He moved carefully, clinging to the structure as he worked his way upwards to the underside of the big tank. Once there he was able to mount the narrow walkway that underscored the tank and provided a space for moving more easily beneath it. Illya found the parcel, tucked neatly between a girder and the tank itself. There appeared to be nothing holding it in place, causing only a momentary hesitation before he took hold of it and pulled. When he did, a puff of something sinister caught the air and in seconds the Russian was down.

Napoleon, watching with a smug satisfaction at his ability to maneuver the situation in his favor, was suddenly on the move as he saw his partner collapse onto the meager platform. One wrong move and he might have gone over the side, but somehow he managed to crumble in a heap and remain contained within the confines of the walkway's short handrails.

"Oh my God... Illya..." Instantly the agent began climbing up the rungs of the monolithic structure, his only thoughts on the state of his friend, no longer concerned about the suit he was wearing or the fact that is was catching bolts and rust as he continued up, higher into the farthest reaches of the tower.

Napoleon climbed onto the walkway and headed towards Illya who lay crumpled and unconscious, the package hanging from its original spot. It was empty. The ruse had worked and now at least one UNCLE agent was down. When, and Napoleon didn't allow 'if' to enter his mind; when they returned to headquarters he would track down the person who sent them on this wild goose chase and heads would roll.

"Illya... Illya!" Napoleon slapped the face of his partner, hoping it would bring him around. It did, sputtering and coughing, and then without warning lurching forward as he retched and nearly threw himself over the side. Napoleon held on, pulling Illya back in as he collapsed against him in the narrow confines of the small bridge.

"Hey buddy, you really scared me. Are you going to be all right?" Illya wagged his head, a smirk replacing the look of anguish he had sported only seconds before.

"I am fine. How is your suit?" Napoleon looked down, refusing to look anguished over the fact that his friend had thrown up on it.

"It's just peachy, nothing that a dry cleaner can't handle." That translated to 'the suit doesn't matter as long as you're okay'.

Both of them got positioned within that narrow corridor so that they could each get up and walk across to the other end. Blond and brunet, both equally affected by the intense drama of the past few minutes, refused to admit that they were defeated in any way. This wasn't over, not by a long shot.

The way down was precarious with Napoleon in the lead and hopefully able to reach up and steady his partner should he falter. Illya still felt the effects of the potent gas that had assaulted him, but he was focused on the trip down and determined to reach ground level without any additional trouble.

Once their feet touched the concrete pad on which the tower was built, Napoleon called in to headquarters and alerted Mr. Waverly of the deception. This had been a 'tip', an unsolicited bit of information that stated a pouch containing vital information regarding THRUSH and its North American operations would be left in the location just visited. It was the policy of the Command to follow leads, regardless of how vague, because anything that could be used in this war against villainy was accepted. That agents were sometimes sacrificed because of this policy was a matter of the business at hand; it was impossible to protect against every situation, and Illya's brush with near death proved that irrefutably.

"Mr. Waverly says to come in, and for you to check in at Medical. He has an idea who was behind this and will have some things already in motion by the time we return." That was a lot to take in, and Illya had a headache. He was going to personally tear the suit apart and feed it to sharks... No, that would involved the ocean. He would deliver it to the zoo and let them find an appropriately ravenous creature.

"Hmmm..."

"What?" Illya didn't realize he had said anything.

"You said hmmm." Napoleon was aware of his partner's approaching grey mood. Not yet black, but grey was a grim precursor to that dark place.

"Oh, I only... ' he sighed. "I was thinking how your suit had caused me all of the trouble up on that catwalk. In truth, I would not have had you encounter it either, so... "

"Danger lurks everywhere regardless of our clothing. I'm sorry to have made such a big deal over it." Napoleon realized that his habits sometimes cost the Russian, whether it be a new suit or a new woman. He really ought to take better care of his partner.

"Just the same, I am fine and ... sorry about your suit." A slow smile appeared as he remembered throwing up on Napoleon. Sometimes a suit was just a suit.

"Yeah... well, c'est la vie. I'll just submit my expense report and then have a new one made. At least you're okay, tovarisch. You really are worth more than suit, just so you know." He winked and smiled. They were both alive and had some things to attend to back at headquarters.

Illya stopped off at Medical while Napoleon continued on to the gym to shower and change clothes. It wouldn't do to show up in Mr. Waverly's office with a suit full of ... well, it wouldn't do.

Within the hour each man had made his way up to the office of Alexander Waverly and were seated across from the Old Man. His attention was on a file he was reading. Napoleon had on a fresh change of clothes and Illya had a prescription. The blood work ordered by would be finished by the time this meeting was completed, and Illya just wanted to go home and sleep. He was still feeling the effects of the drug, or whatever it had been. He noticed his vision was slightly blurred, and as he attempted to focus on the papers in front of him, napoleon was watching and taking note of the difficult his friend seemed to having as he attempted to read.

"Are you all right? You seem to be struggling with that paper?" Illya shook his head and Mr. Waverly looked up from his file.

"What's that? Are you not cleared by Medical, Mr. Kuryakin?" Illya looked shocked. He was fine, it was just... No, something was wrong. The room was spinning and there were two Napoleons as he looked at his partner.

"I... No, I... " He passed out onto the table. Napoleon was hovering over Illya, searching for a pulse as Mr. Waverly called for Medical personnel to get to his office immediately.

"Illya... Illya!" No response. Napoleon was still trying to find a pulse.

"It's thready, but there. Just barely. What happened? Medical released him, he was supposed to be fine."

Three men with a gurney burst through the doorway as the pneumatic doors opened up. Armed with hypodermics and oxygen, they began to work on the ailing Russian; pulling his tie open and then his shirt, one medic searched for a pulse while the other prepared an IV line filled with saline solution.

Waverly's phone rang.

"Yes, what the ... What are you saying?... I see. Find it doctor. Yes, goodbye."

Waverly put down his phone and looked first at Napoleon, then at Illya. His eyes remained just a few seconds on the blond agent, partly obscured by the medical people working on him. After about ten minutes one of the medics turned to speak.

"He is stable, for now. We got the lab results in just as you alerted us to this incident. Mr. Kuryakin was exposed to a virus that acts instantly upon contact with a human host. It has a very short lifespan outside of its hosted environment, is mostly killed by contact with the air. The fact that Mr. Kuryakin had this device right in front of him,, well... "

Napoleon was impatient.

"Well what? What are you trying to tell us?" He dreaded hearing it, but somehow Illya's life was more in danger now than it had been up on that catwalk.

"What I'm saying, Mr. Solo, is that Mr. Kuryakin has a very small chance of surviving this, seeing that his exposure was in such close proximity.' The young man's enthusiasm over his subject was tempered by a genuine sense of loss should Kuryakin die. He knew these agents risked their lives regularly; but to die like this...

"We will do whatever we can, Mr. Solo, Mr. Wavelry."

With that he finished the last restraint on the gurney and turned around to begin the journey back to Medical.

Napoleon had to wonder if he would ever get a chance to speak to his friend again.


	2. Chapter 2

As Illya lay in Medical beneath the watchful eyes of the nurses, Napoleon headed for the gym for a quick workout, something to help ease the tension and give him time to think. Afterwards a shower and change of clothes. The suit, the one he had tried to protect, was now ruined. Between Illya throwing up on it and the grime from the ladder on that ominous tower... he no longer cared. The suit had been the catalyst for Illya's exposure to the virus.

"The damned suit saved you, Solo." With the water pummeling his body with jets of hot, spikey shards, he pressed his hands against the glass door and was tempted to bang his head into it as some type of self-imposed punishment. Napoleon chastised himself for the self-loathing. How could he catch the villains responsible for trying to kill his partner if he was busy trying to do himself in?

When he was dressed and had resumed his CEA demeanor, Napoleon headed for the meeting being held in the Chief's office. He joined three other men seated at the round conference table: Alexander Waverly; Dr. McGinnis, and Dr. Simpson* from Section VIII.

"Gentlemen, how serious is this virus to which Mr. Kuryakin has been exposed?" Waverly had received a preliminary report but he wanted to hear it now from his top Lab man and the attending physician. Dr. Simpson cleared his throat before committing to the news he had to share.

"Mr. Waverly, doctor... Mr. Solo... ' he sighed before continuing.

"This is a very nasty thing that has caught Mr. Kuryakin. As I wrote in my report, the lifespan of this viral entity is very short, it must enter a host within a few seconds, perhaps ten at the most." Napoleon shut his eyes, seeing again the puff of smoke and Illya collapsing almost immediately from its effect.

"How does it work so quickly. Illya barely had time to breathe it in before he was down; it acted almost like a super-charged sleep dart." He was confused, concerned and mad at something he couldn't lay his hands on.

"Mr. Solo, that is exactly the way it works, like a sleep dart. It has some of the same components combined with this deadly virus. The victim has no time to step away or create any distance between himself and the substance."

Waverly tapped his pipe absentmindedly, the reassurance of its presence registering subliminally as he considered the horrendous possibilities of what Simpson was describing.

"Mr. Solo, were there any other samples of this .. um... ' He looked at Simpson questioningly.

"How exactly is this categorized, doctor? Is it a germ or a drug? Or both?"

"I suppose it is a combination of both, although the most dominant characteristic is its viral nature. It is a form of germ warfare, and if it loosed upon a population of any size at all the consequences would be devastating in a matter of days."

Waverly looked again at his top agent, the implication now clear in his demeanor. It would be up to Napoleon to find the source and put an end to this threat and those who were causing the threat it represented.

"Mr. Solo, gather together your team and do whatever you must to track down the lab where this ... this weapon is being produced. And hurry man, we have no time to lose."

Napoleon stood, acknowledging the men at the table as he acknowledged the task ahead.

"Yes sir, I have already been strategizing for this eventuality. I'll submit the names of my team to you and the proposed agenda for getting this taken care of." Waverly nodded, his stern expression unyielding as he listened to Solo.

"Very good. And, Mr. Solo...' Napoleon leaned in slightly at that.

"Be careful, all of you. We do not want anyone else exposed to this virus. That is all."

"Yes sir, we will be ... very careful. Sir, I would like to check in on Mr. Kuryakin before ..." Waverly was nodding his head.

"Yes, of course." Dr. McGinnis rose from his chair and reached over to place his hand on Solo's arm.

"Let me go with you, Napoleon. I'd like to discuss a few things with you concerning Illya's condition." That made the agent slightly apprehensive, but he welcomed the opportunity to know everything about his partner's situation. Waverly waived them both off and settled in for the rest of Dr. Simpson's thoughts on developing an antidote to the virus to help combat its effects on anyone else who might be exposed. The labs were also working on a vaccine; both of these efforts were based on blood samples from the stricken Russian.

As Dr. McGinnis and Napoleon walked away from Waverly's office, heading for Medical, the doctor began to describe to the young man next to him the probabilities of some type of permanent damage to Illya's system. It was encouraging, he stated, that Illya had survived the exposure at all; his ability to fight off the worst of it was a good sign that he would eventually pull through.

"So, what are you telling me doctor? Is Illya going to have some health issues related to this? Will he be able to come back into the field as a Section II?" Napoleon was a little confused by the conversation, and suspected that there was more to come.

"Napoleon... ' the pause was made more dramatic by the surroundings; the starkness of the corridors and the constant hum of the building's undercurrent of activities.

"The virus created a very high fever, and one of the after effects is a swelling of the brain, similar to encephalitis. We're working on bringing down the fever, and the swelling." Napoleon stopped in mid-stride, turning to face McGinnis.

"What are you trying to tell me Paul? I know a little bit about encephalitis, the loss of memory and confused state of mind that can occur. That's just temporary though, isn't it?" Paul McGinnis took a deep breath. Lord, he hated having to deliver bad news to these agents, especially when it concerned their partners.

"Napoleon, the nature of this virus is something we're unfamiliar with, and the characteristics of what we're calling encephalitis may or may not be more acute than what we normally encounter." He was hedging, didn't want to have to say what he feared was the case at hand.

Napoleon was getting the impression that Illya's condition could still get worse, that he wasn't out of danger just yet.

"Is Illya going to be permanently affected by this virus?" The doctor shifted his stance, trying to find the words that would be direct and yet compassionate. The emotional bond between partners was at once affirming and, at times, disarming. When one of them was down the effectiveness of the one remaining was often impaired as well.

"There may be some permanent damage. The frontal lobe is currently pressing against his skull, and the possibility of damage to that area... We just don't know at this point, but if the swelling continues without abatement... I'm sorry Napoleon, but damage to that part of the brain will most probably result in Illya having to be removed from the field, possibly even retired completely from the Command."

A lump the size of a grapefruit welled up inside of Napoleon's throat. His mind reeled with recollections of what he knew of the frontal lobe, the devastation to a person's memory and even personality if it were damaged.

"Damage to the frontal lobe can cause increased irritability, loss of memory and often an inability to make decisions effectively. Should Illya's ability to anticipate and act when faced with a situation in the field... well, he wouldn't be safe. _You, Napoleon, _wouldn't be safe with him."

Napoleon almost laughed at the prospect of Illya becoming more irritable, something that quickly passed as he considered what it would mean for the Russian to be unable to make a decision or calculate appropriate actions for his survival.

"And you think this might actually be the case? When will you know for sure?" McGinnis shrugged his shoulders, a most unhelpful gesture in Napoleon's estimation.

"It's a matter of waiting it out, continuing to try and reduce the fever and the swelling. He's heavily sedated right now because the intensity of the pressure would create a nearly unbearable headache. We will continue to scan and monitor... We're doing everything we know to do, Napoleon."

The top agent in Waverly's human arsenal nodded, his handsome face was tense with worry and his own mission now fueled by an even more adamant need to find the rest of this vile substance and destroy it... and the people responsible for it.

The two men silently resumed their walk towards the Medical unit, one contemplating a course of action for his patient, the other a course of revenge for the sake of his friend and partner.


	3. Chapter 3

As the medical team worked to make Illya comfortable and hopefully free of any reciprocal damage from the encephalitic symptoms, Napoleon headed for his office and yet another meeting, this time with the team he would head up. Their goal was to find the source of the virus that was threatening to end the career of Illya Kuryakin, and possibly endanger the lives of millions.

"Thrush obviously intended to show us that what they have is some sort of bargaining chip. I believe that, in tipping their hand, the motive was manipulative.' Napoleon was stern faced as his team listened. Mark Slate and April Dancer were there as were the team of Dan Kinser and Nancy Parker. Without Illya at his side Napoleon felt like the odd man out rather than the one in charge. Working with a partner had forever changed how the CEA viewed his work, his life…

"I don't think it mattered to them who showed up to retrieve that package, only the UNCLE would know something deadly was in the works. What comes next is anyone's guess, but mine is that they will make a demand of some sort."

Mark nudged his partner at that last remark. He had said as much to April on their way in, that THRUSH had a motive beyond hurting an UNCLE agent.

"So, where do we start? Do you have any idea about the person who planted the information about that package?" Napoleon looked at April, remembered her infatuation with Illya and what he surmised had happened in London a few months previous. She seemed fine, professional…

"Section IV has produced some intel regarding the 'tip' we received and traced it to a phone number originating from an office building. We're going to head there now, and hope they don't know we're coming."

Nancy Parker, one of the newly appointed female operatives and a good agent according to her seasoned partner Dan Kinser, had a look on her face that prompted Napoleon to inquire if she was following his briefing.

"Do you have any questions Nancy? You look a little puzzled." She smiled back at her boss, a slight blush rising up from her dark blue turtleneck.

"I don't want to sound like it's a problem, but..."

"That's why we're here, Nancy. What's on your mind?" Nancy looked at her partner as though to gain his permission. In return the blond agent nodded his head.

"Do you think that there will be … is this a trap? What if the place is filled with this virus?" It was hard, talking to Napoleon Solo as though she were an equal. Deep down she still had a certain amount of fear when going out on a mission, enough that Nancy sometimes wondered how long she would last as a Section II.

Napoleon didn't think less of her for the question, he had considered the possibility himself. The issue at hand, however, mandated that they take the risk in order to stop whoever this was and guarantee that THRUSH never had the opportunity that this incident seemed to suggest.

"It is entirely possible. I think, however, that our people have managed to ascertain this location without setting off any alarms. They are very good at what they do, and we are very good at what we do.' Nancy nodded, ready to follow Napoleon wherever he would lead them.

"Any more questions or concerns? No? Okay then, let's head out."

Five agents headed down to the motor pool area and climbed into a van that was specially equipped with enough firepower to lay siege on a fortress. Communications would be manned by a sixth agent from Section III, Greg LaCosta.

As the van pulled out, the team in Medical rushed to the bedside of Illya Kuryakin while he thrashed and gyrated, a seizure buffeting his body. Dr. McGinnis felt the weight of his position as he ordered the Russian agent be put into an ice bath, a last hope for reducing the raging fever. He couldn't promise anyone that Napoleon would ever see his partner alive again.

The UNCLE van pulled to within a half block of the target. The message had come from a two story building whose history seemed evident in its crumbling facade and faded lettering.

"East Side Monument Company." Mark read it and sighed.

"Perfect, they made tombstones here. That sort of sets the mood, I'd say." April smiled, her partner could be morose at times.

"Darling, don't be so fatalistic. It doesn't look as though anyone has done business here for decades. What do you think Napoleon?"

Solo was busy examining every window, looking for possible signs of life. If THRUSH had a lab in this building it would be buried deep within the interior. He wondered briefly how Illya was doing, then pushed that care aside. The mission was the thing and his team needed him to be present and in charge.

"I think you're right April. Dan and Nancy, take the back of the building. Mark, you and April come with me. Sleep darts everyone, we need information and it can't be had from a dead man."

Nancy and Dan circled to the back, climbing over weeds and discarded blocks of cement. Several broken headstones littered the path, another indication that the site had been abandoned for quite some time.

Mark and April flanked Napoleon as they entered through the front door, light hitting the old hardwood floors for what seemed the first time in many years. Dust rose up with each step, leaving footprints in its wake. The trio quickly ascertained that they were the first to come this way as they noticed no other footprints in the dirt and dust covered floor.

The trilling of Napoleon's communicator broke the tension.

"Solo here, what do you have?"

"Napoleon, the back door has been used recently. Someone has actually cleaned this room we're in and by the looks of it someone has eaten in here."

"Okay Dan, we'll come through and meet you there. This area looks undisturbed, so wherever the lab is we'll find it by going in through the back."

Napoleon put his communicator away and led his agents through a long corridor that emptied out into several other rooms on either side. Heading straight back, they were soon met by Kinser and Parker. Nancy pointed towards a stairwell that spiraled up to the second floor.

"Dan, you and Nancy stay here and keep an eye on things. Do not engage anyone if they approach, just find a spot and stay out of sight for now. Let LaCosta know what we've found and what our status is. Mark, April…" Napoleon indicated the stairs with a nod and led the way up.

The second floor was one large room, it was also a laboratory that would make most scientist drool with envy; at least it seemed so to the non-scientists who stood at the threshold and peered into its depths.

"Wow, when THRUSH builds a lab they don't pinch penneys. By the way, where are the THRUSH?" April was scanning the room, as were the two men. Nothing more could be seen, no one…

"Over there. I think there's a white lab coat filled with a body." Mark and Napoleon both turned to look at their female counterpart.

"Over there I said; quit looking at me." It was annoying at times, they sometimes treated her like less than a field agent.

"Don't touch anything." Napoleon approached the prone figure and pulled a pair of gloves from his coat pocket.

"I don't see any blood, so chances are he was ex posed to the virus and…"

"Died? He died from the virus… Do you think Illya will make it, Napoleon?" April's voice sounded a little shaky, as though the gravity of the situation had finally, reluctantly, settled in.

"He's dead, and if our labs are correct, so is the virus. It can't live longer than a few seconds and then it becomes completely devoid of danger."

Mark approached, gloved and cautious; he leaned over the man and then looked around at the beakers and various other lab accouterment that was evident.

"We need our lab people over here Napoleon. We don't have a clue what to do next." Napoleon nodded, prompting Mark's call back to Headquarters.

Once more Napoleon's communicator warbled its tune.

"Solo here." His concentration was centered on searching for clues as to why the man was dead.

"Napoleon, we have someone approaching. I don't recognize anyone, but I'd lay odds they belong to THRUSH." Dan was speaking low.

"How close Dan?"

"Thirty feet, and closing. We're going to duck behind something… almost to the door now."

"Keep your communicator open, I want to hear what they're saying."

Dan didn't respond and Napoleon assumed he and Nancy had taken their places in whatever spot would conceal them. The sound of voices came through the open communicator and Napoleon gave the shush sign to Mark and April, hoping that nothing would be heard from the other end.

"In here, and hurry up. That lunatic scientist has doomed this project, the virus is dead and so is he."

"Abernathy is dead? How?"

"Are you brain dead Murphy? The virus killed him, and he left the canister open and now it's dead as the proverbial doornail. Sheesh, you're such a schmuck."

The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs signaled the three agents to find their hiding places and wait. As soon as the room below was clear, Dan and Nancy emerged from the closet they'd gone into for cover and prepared to follow the THRUSH duo upstairs.

"Be careful, just in case."

"Just in case of what Leo?" The one called Murphy seemed singularly disadvantaged.

"The virus, you numbskull. Geez, how'd you ever get into THRUSH in the first place? You need a …"

Napoleon emerged from his hiding spot, gun drawn and deadly agent personna in place.

"You can stop right there. I believe you have information that we might find useful." Napoleon's gaze bore a hole through the two men while Mark and April stood in strategic positions, ready to move into action if needed.

"UNCLE huh? Well, well… I think maybe you already know that the virus is, shall we say, expired. The brilliant scientist who developed it got sloppy and, well… you already found him so you know what happened." Leo spoke with more confidence than he actually possessed. Making a deal with the man seemed a better solution than being left for dead or, worse, for THRUSH. His loyalties were only as deep as his need to survive.

Murphy seemed unsure, but was willing to follow the lead of his partner.

"Guns and whatever else you're carrying then, as I take it you're willing to cooperate." Napoleon knew there would be no resistance.

Dan was left in charge of directing the clean up and collection of the materials inside the lab. Doors were sealed and hazardous materials handlers sent in to thoroughly investigate the scene. Napoleon waited for a team to pick up the THRUSH who went willingly enough to their interrogation, eventually yielding information that would lead to the apprehension of their superiors and the capture of another THRUSH satrapy. All in all, a successful endeavor.

Back at Headquarters Napoleon went first to Mr. Waverly's office for a mission debriefing, after which he headed directly to Medical. No mention had been made concerning Illya's condition, something that produced both encouragement and anxiety; not knowing anything battled against not hearing bad news.

The scene that greeted Napoleon caused him to stop in mid-stride, torn between a deep need to let down his guard and just be grateful. Illya was sitting up, no sign of the struggle he had endured as his body battled against the effects of the virus. He looked tired and, if possible, a shade whiter than before, but otherwise seemed to be fine.

"Illya, how do you feel?" That was all he could come up with, but his partner smiled at him and waved him into the room.

"I am much better it seems, in spite of being nearly killed… again. How is your suit?" The wily Russian would probably not let the American forget this for a very long time. But that was just fine with Napoleon, he could get another suit made… a hundred suits.

At last count, there was only one Kuryakin, and he was irreplaceable.


End file.
